The Other Side of the Crash
by Known Unknowns
Summary: When the car crash leaves one agent fighting for her life and the rest hunting for revenge, a dangerous war rages that could spell disaster for NCIS. AU after "Berlin". Tiva.
1. The Other Side of the Crash

**The Other Side of the Crash**

_A/N: Well, when I originally posted this, I (along with every other NCIS fan) was under the assumption that Tony and Ziva would actually be injured in the crash. So, this is AU now, I suppose, since the show decided not to capitalize on the excellent hurt/comfort and angst opportunity._

_Disclaimer: If they were mine, we wouldn't be here right now, now would we? Also, the lyrics included are from "The Other Side of the Crash" by Thursday._

* * *

**_"The lights go down outside before our cars collide, so we silhouette ourselves in forty shades of fire."_**

* * *

The first thing he became aware of was the pain. Now, being a federal agent prone to injury, not to mention pushing forty five, that in itself was not unfamiliar. However, the level of pain was foreign. It was consuming, enwrapping his leg in a kind of white fire, like someone was playing darts with the entirety of his right leg. He groaned, trying to make some kind of sense of the jumble of memories in his head.

The next thing he became aware of was an overwhelming, inexplicable panic. His heart sped up wildly in his chest, like there were bongos playing in his rib cage. His brain was screaming at him in a language he didn't understand, trying to communicate something to him. He focused as best as he could, trying to gauge what he felt, aside from the intense agony in his leg.

Metal. Yes, there was twisted metal around him. He could feel the jagged edges poking him, most likely drawing blood. He felt leather behind him... a car seat? That must be it. He thought he smelled smoke, mixed with the scent of blood. _Open your eyes, Anthony, _a voice said, but it was eerie and distant. Definitely not his own. However, in spite of his confusion, he opened his eyes, which were lowered. His chin was resting against his chest.

_That explains the leg, _he thought blearily, looking down with some detachment at the thick stainless steel fragment driven up through his leg, soaked in his blood. Impaled. He'd never been impaled before. He fumbled at the back of his mind, searching for some explanation.

Ziva. Okay, that was something to start with. He saw her face in his mind... dark eyes boring into his. Then he remembered a warmth in his hand, the feeling of her slender fingers intertwined with his. He recalled her saying his name, but then there was a light...

Why was there a light? _Because we were hit. There was a crash. _Finally, his mind had caught up. They were in a car crash. _They._ The word echoed in his head.

"Ziva!" he groaned, his voice rough to the point of sounding animalistic. In spite of his body's painful protests, he turned his head to the side, fumbling with his hand. She had been holding his hand. Why had she let go? Where was she?

He didn't have to look far. A bloody hand rested only an inch away from his. _I'm sorry... _he whispered in his borderline delirious mind. _I'm sorry I let go, Ziva. _He grabbed her hand, lacing his fingers with hers as he had before. Only this time, they were cold. She's never been cold before, when he touched her. She was always so warm.

He looked up at her face. Her head was lolled to the left, her dark curls splayed over her. Her eyes were closed. He saw that blood was trickling slowly down her neck. _Why was it on your side? Why couldn't it have been on mine?_

Her face was pale and bloodless, and that terrified him. Her right arm was pinned behind her, and he couldn't see how much damage had been done. He wasn't sure if he wanted to. "Ziva..." he whispered desperately, squeezing her hand.

She didn't respond. She showed no signs of being aware of anything at all. Actually, she showed no signs of being _alive_. But that can't be right. Ziva couldn't die. She was Ziva. The invincible Mossad ninja. His partner. His best friend. His purpose. She couldn't, _wouldn't _just die on him.

She couldn't be gone. He wouldn't accept it. He squeezed her hand harder, trying to shift to the side. He let out an ear piercing scream of agony when he shifted, the metal ripping farther into his muscle, but he persevered, ignoring the burning hot tears streaking down his face. He realized the tears were mixing with the blood dripping from a wound he could only assume was on his forehead.

He managed to lift his free hand to cup her face, turning her head slightly to the side. The entire right side of her face was bruised and bloody, covered with lacerations. He could barely make out her olive skin underneath all of the damage. He brushed his thumb over her undamaged brow, and the tears were still coming. "Come on, sweet cheeks. Don't leave me yet."

He became dimly aware of sirens blaring in the distance. Someone was coming to help them. The question was, were they able to be helped? He lowered his hand, feeling for a pulse. He groped her neck clumsily, trying to find any sign that Ziva was still in the body next to him, that he wasn't just holding on with all his might to a corpse.

He found nothing. He let out a ragged sob. "Don't do this, Ziva, don't do this to me. I need you." He continued searching for a pulse, two fingers pressed hard to her neck, and his other hand digging into hers. He wondered in the back of his mind if he was hurting her. "Ziva," he whispered her name. There was no pulse to be found. Just like with Kate. Just like with Jenny.

His body was still turned, and he buried his face in her shoulder, her hair brushing his forehead. He sobbed again, bringing her lifeless hand up with his, letting it rest on her heart. Her heart that was no longer beating. His other hand made its way back up to her cheek, tracing small circles in her icy skin. "I love you, Ziva," he told her, his voice barely audible. "I love you."

If she was dead, he wanted to die with her. Either both of them made it out of this, or neither of them did. They were partners.

Then, the most blissful thing he had ever felt: the feel of a dull heartbeat underneath their joined hands. He jerked his head up, staring down at her chest. Had he imagined it? No, no! There it was again!

_She's still alive!_

He made a sound of relief that he didn't know how to classify. A sob? A sigh? He didn't know, but dear God, _she was alive_. He looked up at her face, and he felt a weak squeeze on their conjoined, blood covered hands. He stared at her closed eyelids. A second later, they opened halfway, dark brown meeting his hazel.

They looked at each other for a long moment before her eyes rolled back into her head, and she sagged into him, sending the agony of his leg to whole new levels as she became dead weight. He let out a strangled exclamation of pain as they slid off the leather seat and into whatever was left of the floor of the back of the car. He cradled her to him, keeping their hands firmly over her heart, counting every beat. _One... two... three... four... five..._

By the time he heard voices nearby, black edges were creeping into his vision. He leaned his forehead against hers, their noses barely brushing. Maybe they were dying. Maybe the two of them would never wake up. _Twenty-five... twenty-six... twenty-seven..._

He wasn't a very religious man. Never was. But in that moment, he prayed. He prayed with everything he had, a mindless chant keeping pace with his tracking of her heartbeat, whispered words released into the narrow space between himself and Ziva.

"Please don't let her die."

_Twenty-eight... twenty-nine..._

"Please, please don't let her die."

_Thirty... thirty-one..._

"Dear God, please, please don't let her die!"

_Thirty-two... thirty-three..._

The blackness finally swallowed him whole as his desperate pleas became less coherent, and his count reached thirty-four.

* * *

_**"Car crash came and car crash went, so I went along with it, because the girl you love's not coming back, it'll never be the same."**_


	2. Over and Out (Of Control)

**Chapter 2: Over and Out (Of Control)**

_Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS._

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Leroy Jethro Gibbs considered himself to be a patient man, he really did. He worked tirelessly at building a boat with hand tools, stubbornly refusing to use power equipment, choosing months of labor over a few days aided by twenty-first century helpers. He was patient because he felt more fulfilled when he was done. He had built it with his own two hands.

The people who knew him, however, would not consider him to be a particularly patient man. He ended phone conversations with no warning, often interrupted and cut people off to speed things along, and tolerated nothing but the absolute best from his team. He didn't think that demanding efficiency made him impatient, but others seemed to think so.

There was only one time when he would classify himself as being truly, unequivocally impatient, and that was when he was forced to _wait _for news. There was nothing in the world he detested more than waiting around, unable to do anything at all. Especially when it involved the people he loved... his family. He hated being useless, useless just like he was now.

He sat in the OR waiting room, alternating between sitting on one of the ridiculously uncomfortable plastic chairs with his head in his hands and pacing restlessly between the nurse's station and the locked double doors that led to the operating rooms. He glanced at the clock every minute, expecting hours to have gone by, and being disappointed each time. Every time he heard footsteps approach, his head would immediately jerk up, expecting (or rather hoping) for one of the surgeons working on Tony and Ziva to exit and give him some kind of explanation as to their condition.

A car crash. They were NCIS agents. They risked their lives everyday, they ran towards the gunfire, not away from it. They had to understand that every single minute they could lose their lives. It was part of what they did. Sometimes, he thought that maybe that made them heroes. On his worst days, he thought it might have just made them self-righteous idiots. When he received the call from the hospital, having been listed as next of kin for both of his agents, he was told that Ziva and Tony had been in a crash and were both currently critical, he had expected that their wounds would be from bullets, or knives.

Not a car crash. He never did like surprises.

When he had arrived, he had listened, glassy-eyed, to the nurse. She had explained to him the condition that his two agents were in. They had been t-boned by an SUV at an intersection, on Ziva's side. Predictably, she had taken the most damage. She had a severe concussion, a mangled right arm, several deep lacerations that would require stitches, and three broken ribs. Several bone fragments had apparently pierced her pericardium, so she was currently in emergency surgery. She had lost several pints of blood. He had been told that there was a high chance that she might not make it through.

Tony's injuries were serious as well, but the chances of them being life-threatening were much lower. He had been impaled by a jagged piece of metal that had broken off from the car's frame. He had a mild concussion, but it didn't compare to the severity of Ziva's, even with his previous head injuries. He apparently had a large, gushing wound across his forehead, a broken nose and fractured maxilla, and several hairline fractures on his right arm. The nurse informed him that there was a strong risk of Tony losing use of his leg, depending on how fast they were able to repair the damage done to the impaled limb.

After hearing this from the nurse, he encountered the two local LEOs, who had provided him with the information that the car accident was not actually an accident. It appeared to have been a hit and run. They had checked the traffic cams at the intersection to try to at least get a license plate on the car that had smashed into Tony and Ziva.

They had showed him a picture of the man they had spotted on the traffic camera. Ilan Bodnar. This wasn't a freak accident. There was a reason he didn't believe in coincidences. This had been an attack, purposeful, definitely with the intent to kill or at the very least maim.

Maim. This man had _maimed_ Tony and Ziva. Ziva had the possibility of losing her life. Tony was at risk of being permanently doomed to walking with a crutch or a cane, having to drag around a leg that had been rendered useless. He would have to be taken off of active duty. His life as a federal agent would be over. For Tony, that might actually be worse than death.

He had also found out that when the emergency responders had arrived on the scene, Tony and Ziva had been huddled in each other's arms, both unconscious. They surmised that Tony woke up briefly after the initial crash and tried to reach Ziva to see if she was alive. Their hands had been laced together over Ziva's heart. _We're a team. We look out for each other._

He involuntarily clenched his fists as he resumed his position on the chair, trying to calm his speeding pulse. He hadn't felt like this since the night that Bodnar orchestrated the murder of Ziva's father, with Jackie Vance getting caught in the crossfire. "_She's dead. My wife is dead, Gibbs," _Vance's voice echoed in the back of his mind.

As if his thoughts had summoned the man, a worn-down Leon Vance stalked into the OR waiting room, dark circles under his eyes indicating that he had been awakened from his sleep. He didn't know how the director had been made aware of Tony and Ziva's presence here. He could only guess that a friend with Metro PD had called him and informed him that two of his agents were on death's door.

Vance halted in front of him, and Gibbs didn't even look up at the man. He knew he would receive no pity from him - they both respected each other too much to waste time with that. Advice, perhaps. Sympathy. Concern. Empathy. However, no matter how nice those things sounded on Hallmark cards, he had no time for them.

A long moment of silence passed between the two of them before Vance finally spoke, his voice even. "How are they?"

He lifted his eyes to meet Vance's, meaning to respond. Nothing but air came out, and after a second passed, he merely closed his mouth and shook his head in defeat. He didn't know where to begin. He didn't know where to end either, come to think of it. He didn't want to speculate on their condition, didn't want to discuss their injuries, their next step in their pursuit of Bodnar... he didn't want to speak. That in itself was not a new feeling, but he felt that any words would be useless until he heard from the surgeons.

Vance, the perceptive bastard, seemed to understand this, and elected to take a seat next to him, crossing his arms and settling in for what was bound to be a long night. Gibbs peered at Vance out of the corner of his eye, and he was surprised to find that in spite of his reluctance for conversation, he was glad that Vance was there. Somewhere along the lines, Leon Vance had gone from a bureaucratic nightmare and necessary evil in his life... to his friend.

He needed a friend, he supposed. He knew that he should've called everyone and explained to them what had happened. McGee, Abby, Ducky, Palmer, they all deserved to know what was happening. But was there really any point? He would call them, they would react with fear and horror, arrive here at Bethesda and maintain a silent and morose vigil with him, waiting for news. No. There was no point. He was the only one who needed to go through the damned waiting.

The minutes ticked by slowly, so slowly that he starting to wonder if time was starting to literally go backwards. The view outside of the waiting room windows matched the mood inside: dark. Would the morning ever come?

Finally, at five o'clock, a surgeon exited from the OR, and he and Vance immediately stiffened in their seats, looking up at the man. His nametag read _A. Glaser_. "Are you here with Anthony DiNozzo and Ziva David?" _Here with? No, I'm here for them. I wish I was with them..._

He nodded, and Vance replied with an automatic "Yes."

Glaser pulled down his mask, and he felt his heart clench at the grave expression on the man's face.


	3. We Will Overcome

**Chapter 3: We Will Overcome**

_A/N: Not a hundred percent sure on the medical stuff in this chapter. My time with the House fandom schooled me on rare diseases, but not really physical trauma._

_Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS!_

* * *

Gibbs sat at Tony's bedside, gripping his senior field agent's hand in both of his. The sun was slowly beginning to inch over the horizon, letting pale shafts of life work their way into the dour and gray halls of the ICU in Bethesda. The clock in the corner ticked away, a monotonous rhythm to mark the passage of time since Tony had been moved from the OR into the intensive care unit.

Tony's features looked peaceful, and that was the only comfort that Gibbs had at the moment. A jagged, stitched wound extended across his forehead, and a thick bandage covered his nose. Along the right side of his face were dark purple and blue bruises, along with several minor cuts.

In spite of his injuries, Tony was currently wrapped in a deep, medicated slumber provided by the morphine drip leading into his forearm. No pain. No fear. Just rest. The doctor said that Tony would probably wake up later in the day, but also warned him that he would most likely be barely coherent with the strength of the pain killers being administered to him.

Ziva, on the other hand, would not be waking up this afternoon. In fact, there was a chance that Ziva would not be waking up at all. The severity of her head injury combined with the profuse blood loss caused by the crash had sent Ziva into a coma. According to Dr. Glaser, there was a small chance that she would regress into a vegetative state. Only time would tell. A battery of tests were being performed on her today, a CT, an MRI, and other gatherings of letters that he hadn't bothered to remember. The only reason he wasn't with her now was because Vance had elected to stay with her. The two of them were bound by blood and death, and he decided to leave them be. He would stay with DiNozzo until he woke up.

The doctors didn't seem to know much of anything. It was a spectacular show of restraint that he hadn't launched at the surgeon who was full of 'ifs' and 'possibilities' with his SIG. He wanted to know, point blank, if he was getting both of his agents back, all in one piece and with the guarantee that they would be able to recover to the point of being sound of mind and body once more.

He sighed, eyes traveling past Tony's sling-bound arm to his leg, which was concealed under the thin blanket of the hospital bed. They would have to wait until Tony was awake and moving around to know how much motor function he had regained in his leg. The doctor had hazarded a guess that Tony would at the very least regain some use of his leg upon waking up, but it was very likely that he would need six weeks minimum of physical therapy to regain full use of the limb.

He brushed his thumb over the back of Tony's hand, a storm of emotion clouding together in his chest. Rage. Regret. Terror. Sorrow. He closed his eyes, attempting to give some kind of order to his chaotic thoughts. _You need to call them, _he reminded himself. _They'll be waking up now. Don't keep them in the dark. _He withdrew his cell phone from his pocket, staring at the screen. 6:15 am, April 24th, 2013. He had a feeling he would never forget the date.

He elected to call McGee first. He punched in his speed dial number, and the phone only had a chance to ring once before the younger agent's voice greeted him. "Boss?"

"McGee, I need you at Bethesda," he said, skipping all pretenses that this conversation was anything other than the breaking of bad news. He had enough experience telling families that their loved ones were dead, dying, or missing to know that the 'rip-off-the-Band-Aid-quickly' approach was the best way to go about it. There was a science to tragedy, disturbing as it was.

"Bethesda as in the hospital?" McGee asked slowly, cautiously. Being called to Bethesda didn't always mean there was an injury. After all, any crime that took place in its halls was in NCIS jurisdiction.

"Yeah..." Gibbs' stomach did an unpleasant flip. "Tony and Ziva were in a car crash. They're not in good shape. Get ready and get here. Pick Abby up on the way."

"Boss... what do you mean by 'not in good shape'?" he asked, his voice suddenly sounding very small, like a small boy looking for reassurance.

"They were t-boned at an intersection downtown. Intentionally. Metro PD caught Bodnar on the traffic cam. It hit on Ziva's side. They're both out, DiNozzo's just sleeping, Ziva... she's in a coma. Severe head injury." He was met with nothing but silence on the other end. It took him a few moments to realize that McGee had hung up on him. He didn't know whether that was a good sign or not.

He dreaded the next call. Breaking bad news to Abby was comparable only to kicking a puppy. He hated being the one to tell her that her friends had been hurt, but it always fell to him. He was starkly reminded of how he had felt before he had told Abby of Kate's death, the feeling of wanting to throw up on his shoes. Abby did not answer as quickly as McGee, picking up on the third ring.

"Morning, bossman," she greeted blearily. He had either woken her up, or she was just getting her day started. "Do I need to come in early?"

"McGee should be at your apartment in the next fifteen minutes or so," Gibbs said. "You need to be ready for him when he gets there. Tony and Ziva are hurt."

Dead silence on the other end. "Bodnar." Leave it to Abby to figure out the perpetrator within a few seconds. She never failed to impress him. "Gibbs, how bad are they hurt?" When he didn't immediately respond, her voice became more panicked. "Gibbs!"

"They're alive. Tony should wake up later today. Might need some physical therapy on his leg, broke a few bones, but he'll live," he told her, and he was glad that he could at least provide her with some comforting news. He tightened his grip on Tony's hand, watching the younger man intently as he slept.

"Ziva?" she whispered, her voice cracking slightly.

"I don't know, Abs, I don't know," he replied honestly. "Get ready. I'll see you soon." He ended the phone call, then dropped his phone on Tony's bedside table before leaning back in his chair and sighing deeply. Abby and McGee were coming. They had been informed. At least he had been able to do something. Tony would have his friends here to support him and comfort him when he awoke, and Ziva, whether she knew it or not, would not be alone during her stay in Bethesda.

"Jethro?" He jolted in his chair at the sound of the voice, having thought that he was alone in the room. He looked to the door, and he saw Ducky standing there, boat hat clasped in one hand, a long brown overcoat bound tightly around him, thinning hair looking windblown. "Director Vance called and informed me of what's happened."

"You talk to the doc?" he asked as Ducky dragged a chair over from the other side of the room, taking his place at Gibbs' side, eyes quickly taking in the information displayed by Tony's myriad of monitors.

"Yes, yes, I spoke to Dr. Glaser. He gave me a full overview of Ziva and Anthony's injuries, and seemed quite eager to do so, might I add. I feel as though the man would've gladly pawned the case off to me, if he'd had the mind to," Ducky said, folding his hands together as he considered Tony's sleeping form. "The director tells me that Ilan Bodnar is responsible for this."

"He hurt them, Duck," he whispered, almost too quietly to be heard, but judging by the sympathy in Ducky's eyes, he had heard him loud and clear. "He hurt my family. Again."

"Jethro, I'd like to think that over our rather long friendship, I've come to know you well... this man won't get away with what he's done to Anthony and Ziva. Of that, I'm sure," he said, clapping Gibbs' shoulder.

He didn't know how much comfort he took from Ducky's words, but he had hit the nail on the head with one thing.

Ilan Bodnar was a dead man.


	4. Understanding

**Chapter 4: Understanding**

_Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS!_

* * *

Horns blaring. Intense pain, the hot, sticky feeling of blood plastered against his clothing. The smell of burning plastic and metal around him, and the taste of iron in his mouth. Red and blue flashing lights assaulting his closed eyelids.

The memories surfaced to his mind in a murky mess, jumbled and overlapping in an incoherent gathering that he couldn't begin to make sense of. He didn't know where he was, he didn't know what was happening, but his heart was beating far too fast. He could hear his blood pumping, pounding in his ears. Something was wrong, and he didn't know what, and God, he was so damn confused..

He opened his eyes, gasping for breath. White light assaulted his retinas, and he blinked, shying away from the brightness. He let out a groan that sounded almost animalistic in nature, pressing his head back against what he identified as a pillow. He felt as if a timpani was being beaten in his head, his temples throbbing painfully. He tried to move, but both his arm and leg protested with a sharp bolt of pain arcing up the length of his body.

"DiNozzo." Tony opened his eyes again, slower this time, recognizing the voice and feeling his heart slow slightly. He tried to take the puzzle pieces in his mind and fit them together, but they were inhibited by a thick fog he couldn't break through. He turned his head, wincing, to look at the source of the voice.

Gibbs' pale blue eyes looked down at him, and he became dimly aware of the older agent's hand grasping his own. His gaze was plagued with concern, something that made him think that whatever situation he was in must be pretty damn bad if Gibbs looked that worried.

"B-boss?" he managed, voice hoarse and nasally. He felt a pressure on his nose - was it broken? He glanced around the room, realizing where he was with a sinking feeling of displeasure. He identified it as a room in Bethesda. Gibbs was in the chair directly at Tony's bedside, and McGee was dozing with his mouth open comically wide on a nearby loveseat that was backed against the wall.

Well, that certainly explained... pretty much everything. The pain, the confusion, the fog in his mind. It reminded him far too much of when he had woken up in the hospital almost two years prior, when he had lost his memory of the shootout in the alley and his secret mission for the SecNav.

"Good to see you awake, Tony," Gibbs said, his tone much softer than he was used to hearing.

"Boss..." he repeated, before nodding towards the IV. "Get me off of this, I c-can't... I can't think," he stammered.

"You're in a lot of pain, right now," Gibbs replied. "You need to stay on the drip."

"No," he shook his head adamantly. "No, there's something wrong, Gibbs, something really wrong, someone's in t-trouble, and I can't..." his train of thought slipped away from him, and he clenched his fist in frustration, thumping it against the bed. Gibbs tightened his grip on Tony's hand.

"Just relax," Gibbs said. "You should sleep. You're pretty banged up."

"What happened to me?" he asked in a small voice. There was something prodding at the back of his mind, something important, life or death, but when he reached for it, it would fade into the background. _Damn it..._

"You can't remember?"

"It's there, but I c-can't reach it," Tony answered, closing his eyes for a long moment. He attempted to move his right arm, but he found that his wrist was bound in a cast, and his entire arm was in a sling.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Gibbs asked. Tony, eyes still closed, tried to focus on the last memory he had. He remembered a light pressure on his hand, he was looking at someone... Ziva. He was looking at Ziva. He remembered feeling vibration, lights streaking by. Okay, so they were in a car.

Car. Okay, they were in a car. And now he was in a hospital. Connect dot A to dot B...

_Her face was pale and bloodless, and that terrified him. Her right arm was pinned behind her, and he couldn't see how much damage had been done. He wasn't sure if he wanted to. "Ziva..." he whispered desperately, squeezing her hand._

"Ziva!" he burst out. "Ziva's hurt, boss, you've got to find her, she wasn't breathing, I thought she was d-dead, she might _be_ dead, and-"

"Slow down, DiNozzo," Gibbs told him. "We know. You're both here, at Bethesda. She's in the room right next door."

"She's alive?" he asked, forcing himself into a sitting position, even though his entire body screamed in protest. He released Gibbs' hand and detached his IV. He went to swing his legs over the side of the hospital bed, but Gibbs' firm hands on his shoulders halted his progress.

"She's alive," his boss replied, though something in his tone did nothing to alleviate his growing panic. "You need to calm down, you're not in any shape to be walking anywhere. You're concussed, on top of-"

"I can walk," he said, shrugging off Gibbs' hands, but before he could move Gibbs pulled back his covers, revealing his right leg, bound completely in a cast from his mid-thigh down.

"Oh?" Gibbs asked, arching an eyebrow at him. "There's nothing you can do for her right now, Tony. She's..." he paused, easing Tony back into so that he was laying down on the bed once again. "She's in a coma. She sustained a head injury from the crash."

"A coma?" Tony echoed weakly, a knot of worry forming hard in his chest. "Come on, boss, tell me she's okay." He could feel the medicated haze in his mind starting to lift slightly, and the world was slowly filling with more clarity. More memories were surfacing, and he was piecing back together the events of the crash that led him here.

"She's stable," Gibbs answered, clasping his hands together, eyes not meeting Tony's. "But they're not positive how bad the head injury is. There's a chance that she might not wake up."

Ah, Gibbs. Always honest, always blunt and straightforward. The man who respected him too much to offer him a comforting lie. Tony felt like someone had just punched him hard in the throat. He dragged in a heavy breath, running his free hand through his hair. "No..."

"Abby and Ducky are with Ziva right now. They're watching over her," Gibbs assured him, clasping him gently on the shoulder.

"So... we have to wait? Just sit in this godforsaken p-place and _wait_?" he burst out. "For how long? When will they know if she'll wake up or not?"

"Doc says there's no way to tell," Gibbs answered.

"Shouldn't said doc be in here, checking on me?"

"I'd rather have Duck look you over," the older agent replied dryly. "I'll call him now," he said, hand diving into his pocket for his phone. Tony grabbed his wrist, halting him.

"I need to see her, boss, need to see her breathing," he insisted. "Get me a wheelchair or something. I just need to see her. Ducky can give me a once over in there."

Gibbs looked at him for a long moment before sighing and rising from his chair. "Okay, DiNozzo." He made his way to the other side of the room, where a fold up wheelchair rested against the corner. As he unfolded it, a cardiac alarm sounded in the room next door, beeping wildly.

_Wait... Ziva's in the room next to mine, isn't she!?_


	5. How Long is the Night?

**Chapter 5: How Long is the Night?**

_A/N: Big changes this chapter. One: no more song lyrics at the beginning, and I'll be editing them out of the other chapters, except for the first. They're not really necessary at this point. Two: I finally know where I'm going with this story, so we're going to be getting into the meat of it. Three: This is going to be more focused on the team as a whole, as opposed to just being about Tony and Ziva, but they'll still be at the forefront, of course._

_Disclaimer: I no own-y the NCIS._

* * *

"Ziva!" Tony burst out, looking up at Gibbs with panic in his eyes. He realized that there was no time to get him in a wheelchair, and he jerked his head towards Ziva's room. "Go!" He didn't need to be told twice. He raced out of Tony's ICU room, darting around the corner, his destination Ziva's room, but his progress was halted by the group of nurses converging on his agent's bed as the cardiac alarm continued to wail in protest. Abby and Ducky had been pushed out of the room as well, and they were trying to get back through to her.

Abby was shaking, clutching the sleeve of Ducky's coat. He was rubbing her back in an attempt to comfort her. He put a hand on each of their shoulders and together, they forced their way back into the room.

He caught a glimpse of the heart monitor. Flat line. _No!_

He went to push his way through the gathering, but a burly looking male nurse put a hand on his shoulder to prevent his progress. "Family only, sir."

"We _are_ her family!" Gibbs snapped back, pushing the man to the side with more violence than he originally intended. He pushed through, Abby and Ducky following close behind him. They were standing on the edge of the three nurses and Dr. Glaser, all of whom were gathered around Ziva.

"Charging... clear!" he heard Dr. Glaser say. There was a high pitched whine and then the sound of the shock being issued. He saw her body convulse violently, her head loll to the side. The line on the monitor remained flat.

_No, no, no!_

"Charging... clear!" He felt Abby's hand grip his own. Ziva's body jerked once again, but there was still no beating in her heart.

"No, Ziva, no..." he heard her whisper from next to him. "Ziva, don't do this." She was shaking, tears falling in moist lines down her face. He squeezed her hand, the only comfort he could offer her.

"Charging... clear!" He watched as the paddles were brought to Ziva's chest once again. She looked so small in that bed. Like a child, almost. Seeing the fierce former Mossad officer so vulnerable was so fundamentally _wrong_. Seeing her dying in front of him was _wrong_.

Everything was wrong. This wasn't how things were supposed to be. He knew that it could be them, every single damn day of the week. He and his team, they were agents, and they knew damn well the risk they were taking. They accepted that when they'd taken the job. He had lost people in combat, lost people at NCIS. He knew that it came with the territory, and he knew that it could happen again. There was no law that said you couldn't lose more than one team member.

"Charging... clear!"

There was silence in the room following the high pitched whine of the paddles. Then, the sweet sound of a slow but steady beeping on the cardiac monitor. All of the nurses and Dr. Glaser let out a sigh of relief. The doctor set the defibrillator to the side as two of the three nurses dispersed, but the male nurse stayed to check over Ziva. Dr. Glaser turned to them.

Abby leaned her head into his shoulder, a silent sob racking her body, and Gibbs encircled her in his arms, looking at the doctor over her shoulder as she cried quietly into his chest. "Why?" Gibbs asked, tone hard. The doctor sighed, stripping off his white gloves and depositing them into a nearby trashcan.

"I don't know," Glaser said honestly, a pensive frown on his face. "There's no reason that there should be any cardiac involvement as a result of her coma. I can only guess that I must have missed one of the bone fragments from her ribs that pierced her pericardium."

"Even hemorrhaging between the epicardium and the parietal pericardium doesn't cause a cardiac episode like this, Dr. Glaser," Ducky said, a bit of condescension working its way into his voice. Gibbs was glad that Ducky was here to make sure that Ziva received the best care.

"I don't know what else to tell you," Glaser said stiffly. "We need to perform paracentesis, then get her into emergency exploratory surgery to see if there's still a fragment somewhere. Hopefully we'll know more then." He glanced at Gibbs. "Do we have your consent to do this?" he asked.

Gibbs looked to Ducky for guidance, trusting the doctor's judgment over his own when it came to matters of medicine. Ducky nodded his subtly nodded his head. Gibbs looked back to the doctor. "Yes, you have my full consent."

"Good." With that, Dr. Glaser exited the room, brushing past the three of them and seeming unhappy with the situation at hand. The nurse guided Ziva's bed out of the room, following after him.

"We need to have Ziva and Anthony transferred once this is cleared up, Jethro," Ducky spoke as soon as Glaser was out of earshot. "That man's incompetence in the operating room could have cost Ziva her life."

"We will, Duck, we will," he replied, rubbing his hand up Abby's back before withdrawing from her. "Abs, I gotta go tell Tony and McGee what's happening."

"Tony's awake?" Abby asked, brightening immediately.

"In the flesh," a voice said from the doorway. Gibbs turned to see McGee and Tony in the threshold of the ICU room. The commotion must have awakened McGee from his slumber. Tony was in the wheelchair Gibbs had grabbed for him, with McGee behind him, gripping the handles. "Where is she, boss? Is she okay?"

"They're taking her to surgery," Gibbs told him. "Her heart stopped."

McGee gulped, and Tony's eyes fell, his jaw working. "Do they know why?"

"They're working on that now, Anthony," Ducky said. "It's good to see you awake."

Tony attempted to give Ducky a smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. Abby, to all of their surprise, had yet to move. She just stared blankly at Tony. "Abby...?" Tony trailed off tentatively, catching on to her odd behavior. Gibbs examined her face. She was still crying.

In a flash, she was moving forward, her arms around Tony's shoulders. She could tell that she was hugging him gently in spite of herself, not wanting to hurt the injured agent. He raised his arms and put them around her back, closing his eyes for a moment. "I'm so glad you're okay, Tony." Abby said, barely loud enough for the rest of them to hear. "I really thought this time..."

"Hey," Tony withdrew, putting hands on either side of Abby's face. "I'm not going anywhere, got it?"

She nodded, pursing her lips as she withdrew, though she took Tony's hands in her own. She turned to look at Gibbs and Ducky. "Gibbs?"

"Yeah?"

"When are we going to get this son of a bitch?"

"I'm afraid that's no longer NCIS' concern, Ms. Sciuto." Everyone in the room turned to look at the newcomer, who was standing close behind McGee, who jumped slightly. Gibbs was surprised to see Tom Morrow standing there, eyes boring into him. "Jethro. I need to speak with you."

"Whatever you have to say to me can be said in front of them," Gibbs said evenly. Homeland Security making an appearance was not a good sign. Morrow sighed.

"You're not going to like to hear this," Morrow said. "But you're all being moved into protective custody once Agent DiNozzo's stay in the hospital is over, which it will be, come this time tomorrow. It's clear that Ilan Bodnar is targeting your team. You've got two agents down and a dangerous international criminal on your tail. You can't continue to handle this case."

"With all due respect-" Gibbs began, but Morrow cut him off.

"Jethro," he said, a frown falling on his features. He paused before he continued. "Your home was destroyed by a bomb roughly an hour ago. There's nothing left... I'm sorry."


	6. A Hole in the World

**Chapter 6: A Hole in the World**

_A/N: Thank you as usual to all of you who reviewed, followed, and favorited. I am hugging you all in my mind! Also, if anyone cares, I made a Tumblr recently, and it's a multi-fandom blog with quite a healthy dose of NCIS ramblings and updates on my stories. Link is on my profile page!_

_Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS, no matter how much I wish that I did._

* * *

The setting sun cast an eerie reddish glow over the remnants of the house he had built with his wife and daughter. The living room they'd watched movies together in was a pile of ash and barely recognizable debris. There was nothing left of the kitchen where they'd eaten dinner together every night for years, where the bomb had apparently been planted. The backyard he had watched Kelly play in hundreds of times was turned to burnt grass and black sticks masquerading as trees.

When they'd died, he'd plan to move out of the house - he really had. But the memories had made him stay. They made him stay because he felt like leaving was abandoning the last bit he had of his family. It'd been a fine torture, avoiding most of the upstairs because of the painful memories but refusing to abandon the house because although it hurt like a knife between the ribs, there was still a sweet taste to them. Bittersweet, but still sweet.

Now, everything was gone. He wasn't a man who greatly valued material things, but everything he owned outside of his overnight bag was in this house. He thought of Kelly's room, untouched for almost twenty years, on the top floor, which was now spread out over the foundation in piles of ashen detritus. He swallowed, fighting back emotion that was building in his chest as he paced through the remnants of his home. The Homeland agents that were working the scene told him that the ceiling of the basement had collapsed in on itself, crushing his boat and all of the tools in his basement.

He thought of the chisel Ziva had gotten him upon her return from Somalia, and he felt as though that was a far greater loss than the boat he probably would have just given away or burned after finishing. It wasn't the boat itself that he cared about; it was the process of making it.

The security detail that had been attached to him, two heavily armed Homeland agents, followed silently behind him, acting as his shadows. When Morrow had informed him that they would all be assigned protective details until Bodnar was caught, he'd out and out refused, but a call to Vance had gotten him overruled. Although the NCIS director was less than pleased by the fact that Homeland was taking custody of the case, he agreed that Gibbs needed protection, if the destruction of his house was any indication.

Bodnar was wise to attack him, honestly. If he had been in his position, he would have done the same thing. Bodnar was threatened by him - as he damned well better be, because when he got his hands on the son of a bitch, he was going to wish he'd never set eyes on him, his agency, or their families.

He'd been at his house for about ten minutes. The waiting at the hospital for Ziva to return from her surgery was killing him, so he decided to take the time to visit his home to see if anything at all was salvageable. His security detail had advised against it, since it was still an active crime scene, but since the bomb squad had already checked it over and assured him there were no more explosives nearby, there was no logical reason to stop him.

Ducky, McGee, and Abby had all offered to accompany him at different points, but he'd turned them all down. This was something he needed to do alone, and he wanted all three of them there with Tony and just in case something came up with Ziva. Not to mention, he didn't like the looks of pity he was receiving from the three of them.

He stepped on something with his foot, and after a jolt of surprise, he looked down to examine it. It was covered in burnt wood chippings, so he bent down and uncovered it with a flick of his hand. It was a small teddy bear, almost perfectly intact except for a few burn marks. It was the first stuffed animal he and Shannon had bought Kelly after her birth.

He picked it up and turned it over, squeezing it slightly. It squeaked again. He'd always found the damn thing annoying, but the way Kelly's face had lit up when she hugged the bear, he'd decided it was okay. He stood back up, and he glanced around what used to be his living room again.

Decades of tragedies and miracles, misery and happiness, wins and losses, late nights and early mornings, life and death, friends and enemies, and all that was left was a teddy bear. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so he settled on a shake of his head before pocketing the bear. He then turned his back on his home and walked out of the bare skeleton of his front door, the Homeland agents following close behind.

His phone rang in his pocket as they were making their way back to the black cruiser he'd been transported in. Gibbs picked it up promptly when he saw that it was Ducky calling.

"Duck?"

"Jethro? Ziva's out of surgery. You should-" Without a moment of consideration, he hung up the phone and clambered into the backseat of the cruiser.

"Floor it," he instructed the driver.

* * *

Tony grimaced down at his almost useless legs as McGee helped him into the wheelchair. Christ, he hated this. After Gibbs had departed he'd gotten back in his bed, and he'd had to have McGee lift him into the bed, just like the younger agent had to lift him to put him back in the chair. Completely demeaning. Ducky already went over the finer details of Tony's current condition. His right leg was worse off than his left, and they would have to wait on physical therapy while the muscle and bone recovered from being impaled. The recovery time for his left leg was given an estimate of three weeks with daily physical therapy, so after his left leg was back to normal, he'd hopefully be able to switch to crutches or a cane.

He wouldn't be able to start therapy on his impaled leg for two weeks yet, so until then, he was essentially screwed. He was going to be trapped in a bed or wheelchair for weeks yet, all while the man who'd almost killed Ziva, severely injured him, and blown up Gibbs' house ran amok.

He sighed heavily as McGee set him in the chair. His friend gave him a concerned frown, but Tony just leveled a good natured glare at him in response. "Relax, McWorryWart, I'm fine. Come on, hop to it."

"I'm sorry. I forgot being concerned about you is strictly forbidden," McGee responded with a roll of his eyes.

"Bigger fish to fry," he replied as McGee pushed him towards the door. With his right arm in a cast, all he could do to go anywhere in his wheelchair was steer himself in circles. Abby was waiting for them at the door, bouncing nervously on her heels.

They were heading to Ziva's room. Ducky had talked over everything with the doc, so the three of them waited to visit their comatose teammate. The idea of seeing Ziva both relaxed him and terrified him, because the last time he had seen her, she'd been quickly bleeding to death in his arms. Hell, he'd thought that she was dead...

He had to suppress a shudder. He didn't know what he would do if Ziva didn't make it through this. He couldn't imagine his life without her in it. For the past eight years, she'd been a hundred different things to him. She was a confidante, a friend, a sister, a comrade, a voice of reason, and that was just to name a few.

He remembered the desperate words he'd spoken to her when he'd thought she was dead, when he couldn't think of anything except how cold she was and _this can't be happening_. He'd said that he loved her. It was about damn time he came to terms with that, he supposed.

McGee wheeled him out of the room, Abby trailing on his side. She smiled at him, putting a hand on his shoulder, and it killed him how sad Abby's usually hundred watt smile looked.

When they arrived in Ziva's ICU room, where Ducky was waiting dutifully at her bedside, Tony had to fight everything to keep himself from vomiting up pure stomach acid.

"Oh, Ziva..." he whispered.


End file.
